


Lazy Saturday

by missmollyetc



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah, weekends, truly a time to catch up and touch base.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazy Saturday

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt given to me by [](http://dsudis.livejournal.com/profile)[**dsudis**](http://dsudis.livejournal.com/) was: Charlie/Don. Shoes. Well, there _are_ shoes in it.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [numb3rs](http://missmollyetc.livejournal.com/tag/numb3rs)  
---|---  
  
_ **NUMB3RS FIC: Lazy Saturday** _

Title: Lazy Saturday

Pairing(s): Charlie/Don

Rating: NC-17

Warning(s): Incest

Author's Note: The prompt given to me by [](http://dsudis.livejournal.com/profile)[**dsudis**](http://dsudis.livejournal.com/) was: Charlie/Don. Shoes. Well, there _are_ shoes in it.

Summary: Ah, weekends, truly a time to catch up and touch base.

 

 

 

Don sprawled, arms outstretched across the carpet, scratching idly at the nap of the rug. The sun turned the inside of his arm a light tan, darkening at the edge where his rolled shirt sleeve met his elbow. He shifted, sunk a little closer to the floor and let the sound of Charlie working at his chalkboard seep under his skin.

He took a breath and realized the garage smelled like Charlie, dusty with chalk and slightly stinging with dry eraser. Don licked his lips. The air stilled against his body, weighting it to the floor. He hadn't meant to lie down for so long, just a quick look at the board suspended on the ceiling, so he could listen while Charlie explained the next algorithm in his sequence via Math For Dummies, but then Charlie had drifted off and Don hadn't felt like moving. No cases, no papers, no people...no distractions. It was a rare feeling, and one he...didn't quite think he should savor, not with--not in the garage.

The ladder staggered across the floor. Don turned his head, opening his eyes to Charlie climbing up to the higher chalkboard. He leaned off the side of the ladder, pincering his fingers on a slice of chalk. Don glanced at the feet of the ladder, but all four held firm.

He let his gaze travel up the rungs, stopping at the fifth where Charlie's scuffed heel hung over the metal. The heel wiggled for balance, bobbing when Charlie began to write again.

Looking was fine, people--Charlie--had invited him to look after all. Don blinked and his eyes moved up and over, taking in the symbols as they appeared under Charlie's hand. Charlie's knuckles were dusty, red spots in an otherwise pale hand. His wrist bent, reaching for empty writing space, and lean muscle flexed up his arm, rippling the dark hair.

Don followed the path of that muscle, up to a slightly hunched shoulder hidden beneath the thin cotton of Charlie's t-shirt, and down the elegant curve of Charlie's back. The end of his t-shirt stopped an inch above Charlie's waist, a line of soft flesh caught between pants and shirt with the jut of his hipbone at one end.

Don licked his bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth to graze his upper teeth. He took a breath and the air thickened over his body, warming and pressing through his clothes. Charlie twisted on the ladder, just enough that the curve of his belly, the trail of hairs riding about his waistband peeped at Don before disappearing beneath his T-shirt again.

The light filled Charlie's garage, streaming from odd angles and around old boxes, but it wrapped around Charlie's body like a blanket, soft and caressing. Beneath that light the curving taunt of his thigh canted just so and Don could see the rise of Charlie's cock, the swell of his ass. Don rubbed his stomach, sliding his fingers between the buttons to feel skin jump underneath his hand. His cock pressed against his fly.

He'd promised not to bother Charlie while he was working. He'd promised _himself_ not to take what Charlie _really_ wasn't offering. He wasn't--hadn't. A drum began to beat in Don's chest, rolling and lush.

Chalk scraped at the edge of the board, the equation taking up the last bit of space. Charlie sighed. He put his writing hand to the small of his back and stretched, pushign his shoulders back. Don curled his other hand over his hip, hissing when his thumb brushed the hardened ridge of his cock. His legs spread, hips angling up into the touch.

Charlie relaxed from his stretch, long fingers tucking the bit of chalk behind his ear. His fingertips lingered at his skull, scratching through his hair. He bit his lip, considering what he'd written.

Don opened his mouth and drank in another breath. His head fell to the side, eyes falling down the length of Charlie's calves and settling on his ankles, where the broken hemisphere of Charlie's sneakers promised wicked things if Don just _spoke_.

But he'd promised.

Charlie stepped down a rung, pausing to stare at the next board down. He alternated between the bottom and the top, worrying his lower lip until it swelled beneath his teeth. Don tightened his fist. His flat hand dug into his stomach. He firmly turned his eyes to Charlie's sneakers.

Charlie never unlaced his shoes all the way, just far enough to loosen the string before his heel crushed its way out the back. After about a week, they slipped off his feet like sandals, flying across the entryway and thudding to the floor. He wore socks until they disintegrated in the wash, which meant fifty percent of the time, he did without.

His feet made a dull thud when they hit the garage floor, heels slapping down at the last. Don flinched, but his cock pulsed, drawing heat from his body until his fingers tingled from the lack. Slowly, Charlie's heels pivoted, stopping when the points of his sneakers aimed directly at Don.

The air congealed around Don's body, jelly-like and too heavy to move. His cock rose between his legs, trapped in his slacks. He could hear Charlie's breathing like it was his own, ragged and deep. His sneakers moved closer; one hesitant step, slightly diagonal.

"You said it was wrong," Charlie said. "You told me--"

"I promised," Don said, and the rasp in his throat could have slit it.

"You promised," Charlie repeated.

His sneakers walked forward, toes digging into the carpet. Don shuddered, hips rolling up. The drumbeat in his chest thudded against his ribs.

Charlie's sneakers came to him, close enough that Don could pick out individual streaks of dirt on the white rubber tips. They paused and then Charlie knelt, his left knee landed next to Don's head. Helplessly, Don followed the arc of Charlie's arm through air, watching Charlie wrap his arm around his upraised shin. Don's knuckles brushed against Charlie's ass. He held very still.

"Look at me," Charlie said. "Please."

Don could count all the times Charlie had said, 'please' on one hand, and never in that voice. He raised his eyes, watching the twitch of Charlie's lips against the grain of denim on his knee. His hair fell down over his cheek.

Don shook his head. He almost closed his eyes but Charlie held out his hand, his writing hand, rough with use and crooked with muscle memory. He showed Don his palm, the tremor of his fingers, and then turned it over so that the bumps of his knuckles gleamed in the light. It was larger than before, square at the wrist like a man and without that touch of baby softness that Don remembered.

The drum in Don's chest turned wild, thunderous and sharp. Don opened his mouth, drew in a breath, and Charlie put his fingers against Don's lips. His nails pressed down, scratching to his chin and down his throat to his neck.

Don's head tilted. He hissed at the catch of a nail over his collar, and Charlie glanced up from his hand. His eyes widened, dark and bright, devouring like a prisoner at his last meal. Don's stomach twisted, heat roiling deep in his bones. His boots pushed at the floor, searching for purchase.

"You were sixteen," he said.

"I was _yours_," Charlie said, and stroked his hand over Don's cock.


End file.
